December 28, 2010

There's a paucity of stuff to write about today and -- suffering through the usual post Boxing Day depression that -- I thought I'd pass along this little tidbit (words dripping with irony here) bound to make you all feel less guilty about your Yuletide engorgement.

A New Jersey woman who hopes to become the fattest woman in the world got 30,000 calories closer to her 1,000lb goal with a festive feast that could have fed dozens of revelers.

She's doing her impersonation of Diamond Jim Brady, pounding down the grunts with gusto in order to make it into the books:

46-stone (644 pounds) Donna Simpson, sitting in a reinforced metal chair, chowed down on the world's biggest Christmas dinner as she ate for two straight hours on Saturday.

The single mother-of-two tucked into two 25lb turkeys, two maple-glazed hams, 15lbs of potatoes (10lbs roast, 5lbs mashed), five loaves of bread, five pounds of herb stuffing, four pints of gravy, four pints of cranberry dressing and an astonishing 20lbs of vegetables.

She's already in the Guinness Book of Records as the largest female human to give birth and methinks with a few more snacks like her December 25th feast she's intent on closing in on largest mammal to do the same.

I'll lay aside all of the opportunities to comment snidely on this lady's quest for fame save to recite the litany of her menu:

2 portions of 25lb oven roasted turkeys

2 portions of 15lb maple glazed hams

10lbs of roast potatoes

5lbs of mashed potatoes

5lbs of chopped carrots

5lbs of sweetcorn

5lbs of roasted butternut squash

5 parcels of house-baked bread

4 pints of cranberry relish

4 pints of home-made gravy

5lbs of herbed stuffing

1 tray of mixed green salad including salad dressing.

Her calorie total was 30,000. Pass the bi-carb..

..oh yes, and the obligatory embedding of the skit from Monthy Python's Meaning of Life.

December 23, 2010

..as we sail into Christmas day, The War Planner and Mrs War Planner will be plying the routes of commerce tomorrow in order to shore up some loose ends, lumps-of-coal-in-the-stocking-wise. So we may very well be in our cups by the time Santa negotiates the DEW line to consume all of the cookies and milk (or, liverwurst sammiches and cold bottle of Spaten Pils set out by the more thoughtful households). Consequently, I wanted to wish all you out there a very merry Christmas and/or politically correct happily joyous RamaHanaKwanzaaMas observance to the supreme deity of your choice.

In the spirit of Christmas, therefore, I present for your enjoyment my absolute favorite scene from one of the best old time Christmas movies: Scrooge, made in 1951 and starring Alastair Sim in the title role.

..to see further adventures of Scrooge's heartwarming rehabilitation, herewith is the conclusion of that wonderful movie.

You can have your Bing Crosby and Jimmy Stewart Yuletide flicks, these scenes -- guaranteed -- bring a tear to my eye and what vestige of Christmas spirit that can be wrung out of this over-commercialized season even in the bleakest of years.

Of course, my modern day favorite would have to be Dennis Leary's The Ref, a cynical sure-fire cure for those treacly, saccharine-induced diabetic comas that this time of year serves up.

NEXT FILM REVIEW: The War Planner reviews famous Boxing Day movies for the only holiday less well known and less well observed than Ground Hog Day. So I am thinking, what, The Champ, Rocky I, II, III, IV, V, VI, MCMLXII, whatever:

December 21, 2010

And, in reference to the remark I made in the Pamela Reed post below, here's one case where you pick up the daily rag and hope to find and obit about a person and pray that his final days were spent squatting over a steam grate in Pittsburgh swilling Sneaky Pete from a brown paper bag or shrieking in agony from terminal rectal cancer.

He left the Senate pissing and moaning about how the system slammed the door on his ass or something:

"Congressman Mike Castle was rejected in Delaware’s Republican primary in favor of a candidate who thought it necessary to defend herself as not being a witch,” said Specter. “The spectacular reelection of Sen. Lisa Murkowski on a write-in vote in the Alaska general election and the defeat of other tea party candidates may show the way to counter right-wing extremists.”

December 20, 2010

This post is about a lady whom I unabashedly had a secret crush on. By the way, usually when folks run articles with black and white pics it usually heralds an obit..

..you know, one of those fragments of the daily rag you glance at in preparing the cushion that will insulate your pooch's solid and (some) liquid offering from the concrete of the patio. (Heretofore, in the War Planner household that meant the Los Anglees Slimes or the Orange County Ragister. Not so now, as our residence has become a pulp-free zone.) Anyway, a pic catches your eye and you discover that some personality you adore (or despise) has shuffled off their mortal coil and joined the bleeding choir eternal.

This is NOT the case with Pamela Reed. She is, insofar as I know, as alive and kicking as she was back in the 80s when I first came to adore her.

So now, there are supermodels and the skinny, bulbous-breasted, ratted-hair skanks that seem to always make the news because they are either going into or getting out of (1) drug rehab, (2) abusive relationships, (3) the county lockup, or (4) all three of the above. We are treated to their mindless, abrasive prattle, over-exposed tits, butt, and skinny legs, and adolescent bleating about war, peace, animal fur, world hunger, and global warming.

And the puerile-minded of those among us sit at home, eating this vacuous offal up in large helpings between 24-hour marathons of American Idol and Sexy Housewives of Milpitas, California.

Pamela Reed came to me (or, I should say, my attention) as Kurt Russel's wife in the Robin Williams vehicle, The Best of Times. She had a passable figure (who cares) and one of those faces that bespeaks of the date you got fixed up with and, at first sight, was a disappointment. Then, as the night wore on, you came to realize that sweet face fronted a great mind, lively wit and -- no, really -- a good personality.

Somehow, you knew you would end up going steady with her, marrying her, and you and she would be staring back at 30 years of marriage, three kids who were (1) a doctor, (2) a college professor, and (3) a Major in the U.S. Air Force who flew C-130s in Desert Storm and now instructs at the Air Force Academy. (Hey, it's my fantasy; go write your own blog.) And you would be as comfortable with her now as you were over that very first beer in The Oar House in Santa Ana 35 years ago.

She was great in every role I saw her in and, I must admit, my favorite was her portrayal of Belle Starr in Walter Hill's The Long Riders. She had that [18]80's sultry look. The type of woman you wouldn't mind ponying up $15 for (or, if you were lucky, she'd discount her rate by $2.50) after long weeks on dusty trails or punching cattle. Whatever.

So after a grand and glorious career, you'd think this woman would be shot through-and-through with Hollywood, imbued with the glam of the industry and all that.

Apparently, not so.

I mean you gotta love a woman whose IMDB trivia is so bereft of affectation as to defy belief. While there are many notable actors on that site that load up their brag sheets with such truckloads of manure that the aroma is enough to drive you away, clearly Pam is not one of them:

Trivia
Won a Cable Ace Award as Best Actress for the HBO series "Tanner '88" (1988).

Received her Bachelor of Arts from the University of Washington.

Earned a Drama Desk Award for the off-Broadway play "Getting Out" and an Obie award for 'sustained excellence in performance in theater.'

Helped raise money for a local fire station.

She and her husband adopted both of their children, Reed and Lily.

Had hip surgery in 1999.

Her engagement ring got stolen on the set of a movie, so she had to replace it.

Had a fire in her basement in 2001.

Personal Quotes
"In twenty years of being in Hollywood, this is what I've learned; If I want my hair to look good, I bend over and brush it - then I leave my house."

Where Are They Now
(December 2004) Resides in Hancock Park, California with husband and kids.

Had a fire in her basement after raising money for a local fire department? One hopes she got a good response. Otherwise, I cannot imagine such a rock-solidly plain and unaffected collection of remembrances; so plan as to be appealing. And, her quote about her Hollywood career life lessons amounting to nothing more than ONE hair grooming technique. That's my kind of woman, salt of the earth and all that.

So, there's Rule Five Friday and countless gorgeous pin-ups made available for the male psyche out there. But give me the good, plain, simple, kind, sweet, unaffected ladies any day!

Pam, don't ever change! I love you just the way you are: for all of the simple goodness you represent.

December 19, 2010

As an amateur radio operator, I can send and receive Morse code at 20 wpm (on a good night with no QRM) and can contest at about 30 WPM if pushed. Contests are fragmented, repeated conversations comprised of the call signs (i.e., K6WHP), signal strength reports, and the official exchange (state, city, or other significant information as the rules of the 'test dictate).

Not bragging it's just a fact.

But contests have formats that are highly stylized patterns and once one understands the pattern, one can fill in the blanks with the repetition involved in the transmissions.

However, there are those who engage in HST -- high speed telegraphy -- at speeds in excess of 50 WPM and do this in plain text with no abbreviations. One of my good friends and fellow QRPer -- Chuck Adams, K7QO, in Prescott, Arizona -- is number eight on the list of those who send and receive ("copy") Morse code at such a blinding rate -- 140 WPM -- as to be incomprehensible to even those who are familiar with the discipline. Here is an article int he WSJ about Chuck:

In the above video, Chuck is engaged in a conversation ("QSO") at a modest 18 WPM -- probably out of courtesy to the ham on the other side of the contact. It does not trouble Chuck as he is a devotee of this art and would like to keep it alive for posterity. I have had a few QSOs with Chuck on 30 meters (10.115 MHz) and my limitations have kept Chuck (and others) at a sedate 15-20 WPM so that I could copy.

To give you another reference about Morse code speed and skills, consider this. A few years back, Jay Leno had a contest wherein he pitted some kids (he said derisively) who were supposedly at the top of their game texting messages to one another using this new-fangled technology versus a couple of old-time hams (actually, guys about my age) sending a message to one another using Morse code. As you might surmise, the kids got their clocks cleaned. I won't dredge up the You Tube video -- it used to be all over the internet -- but those guys were sending at the rate of 22 WPM which is just a shade faster than I can operate at. I am fairly typical of most ardent amateur radio CW operators so, basically, there's a whole bunch of us codgers out here who can shut down all of the young kids with their blackberries..

.so..boo-yah on you!

But to get an idea of what HST is all about, take a look at the video below; this guy is ripping off the text on that menu at 60 WPM. Can you imagine what speeds 80% faster would be like?

TIGER Valley is a premier firearms and operational skills training facility located in central Texas. The facility includes a 1000 yard KD range, UKD range, shoot house, six story tower and nine tactical training bays. TIGER Valley offers pre-designed courses as well as custom designed classes to meet the training requirements of Federal, State, and local Law Enforcement agencies; military personnel; and private citizens.

December 18, 2010

1Lt Kevin "Sky" King of USAFA SQ 150, Long Beach, California passes along this vignette of the mental giants of TSA dealing with some of military returning from a war zone

As the Chalk Leader for my flight home from Afghanistan, I witnessed the following:

When we were on our way back from Afghanistan , we flew out of Baghram Air Field. We went through customs at BAF, full body scanners (no groping), had all of our bags searched, the whole nine yards. Our first stop was Shannon, Ireland to refuel. After that, we had to stop at Indianapolis, Indiana to drop off about 100 folks from the Indiana National Guard. That's where the stupid started.

First, everyone was forced to get off the plane-even though the plane wasn't refueling again. All 330 people got off that plane, rather than let the 100 people from the ING get off. We were filed from the plane to a holding area. No vending machines, no means of escape. Only a male/female latrine.

It's probably important to mention that we were ALL carrying weapons. Everyone was carrying an M4 Carbine (rifle) and some, like me, were also carrying an M9 pistol. Oh, and our gunners had M-240B machine guns. Of course, the weapons weren't loaded. And we had been cleared of all ammo well before we even got to customs at Baghram, then AGAIN at customs.

The TSA personnel at the airport seriously considered making us unload all of the baggage from the SECURE cargo hold to have it re-inspected. Keep in mind, this cargo had been unpacked, inspected piece by piece by U.S. Customs officials, resealed and had bomb-sniffing dogs give it a one-hour run through. After two hours of sitting in this holding area, the TSA decided not to reinspect our Cargo-just to inspect us again:

Soldiers on the way home from war, who had already been inspected, reinspected and kept in a SECURE holding area for 2 hours. O.K., whatever. So we lined up to go through security AGAIN. This is probably another good time to remind you all that all of us were carrying actual assault rifles, and some of us were also carrying pistols.

So we're in line, going through one at a time. One of our Soldiers had his Gerber multi-tool. TSA confiscated it. Kind of ridiculous, but it gets better. A few minutes later, a guy empties his pockets and has a pair of nail clippers. Nail clippers! TSA informs the Soldier that they're going to confiscate his nail clippers. The conversation went something like this:

TSA Guy: You can't take those on the plane.

Soldier: What? I've had them since we left country.

TSA Guy: You're not supposed to have them.

Soldier: Why?

TSA Guy: They can be used as a weapon.

Soldier: [touches butt stock of the rifle] But this actually is a weapon. And I'm allowed to take it on.

TSA Guy: Yeah but you can't use it to take over the plane. You don't have bullets.

Soldier: And I can take over the plane with nail clippers?

TSA Guy: [awkward silence]

Me: Dude, just give him your damn nail clippers so we can get the **** out of here. I'll buy you a new set.

Soldier: [hands nail clippers to TSA guy, makes it through security]

To top it off, the TSA demanded we all be swabbed for "explosive residue" detection. Everyone failed. Go figure, we just came home from a war zone], because we tested positive for "Gun Powder Residue". Who the hell is hiring these people?

This might be a good time to remind everyone that approximately 233 people re-boarded that plane with assault rifles, pistols, and machine guns..

..but nothing that could have been used as a weapon.

Can someone please tell me what the hell happened to OUR country while we were gone?

December 17, 2010

She was a fast machine
She kept her motor clean
She was the best damn woman that I ever seen
She had the sightless eyes
Telling me no lies
Knockin' me out with those American thighs
Taking more than her share
Had me fighting for air
She told me to come but I was already there

'Cause the walls start shaking
The earth was quaking
My mind was aching
And we were making it and you -

Shook me all night long
Yeah you shook me all night long

Working double time
On the seduction line
She was one of a kind, she's just mine all mine
Wanted no applause
Just another course
Made a meal out of me and came back for more
Had to cool me down
To take another round
Now I'm back in the ring to take another swing

'Cause the walls were shaking
The earth was quaking
My mind was aching
And we were making it and you -

Shook me all night long
Yeah you shook me all night long

And knocked me out and then you
Shook me all night long
You had me shakin' and you
Shook me all night long
Yeah you shook me
Well you took me

[..guitar riff..]

You really took me and you
Shook me all night long
Ooooh you
Shook me all night long
Yeah, yeah, you
Shook me all night long

Your really took me and you
Yeah you shook me, yeah you shook me
All night long..

1Lt Bill Preston of the USAFA sends this highlight for the upcoming year:

Next year, Groundhog Day and the State of the Union address BOTH occur on the same day. "This is an ironic juxtaposition of events: one involves a meaningless ritual in which we look to a creature of little intelligence for prognostication, while the other involves a groundhog."

RUST NEVER SLEEPS UPDATE: I got double-teamed today. This one is from Major Joe Di Mento:

On a bitterly cold winter morning a husband and wife were listening to the radio during breakfast. They heard the announcer say, "We are going to have 8 to 10 inches of snow today. You must park your car on the even-numbered side of the street, so the snowploughs can get through.” So the good wife went out and moved her car.

A week later while they are eating breakfast again, the radio announcer said, "We are expecting 10 to 12 inches of snow today. You must park your car on the odd-numbered side of the street, so the snowploughs can get through."” So the good wife went out and moved her car again.

The next week they are again having breakfast, when the radio announcer says, "We are expecting 12 to 14 inches of snow today. You must park...." Then the electric power went out. The good wife was very upset, and with a worried look on her face she said, "I don't know what to do. Which side of the street do I need to park on so the snowploughs can get through?"

Then with the love and understanding in his voice that all men who are married to blondes exhibit, the husband replied, "Why don't you just leave the bloody car in the garage this time?"

December 15, 2010

I got decked by a cold a couple of days ago. It was, hopefully, a fast-mover and I am now in the draining stages, sitting with the TV remote, boxes of Kleenex, a bottle of Lismore, and my favorite USMC tumbler (a gift of The Good Lance Corporal last Christmas) close at hand.

So the cable offerings turned out to be homogenized road droppings. (How many times can one watch Ground Hog Day during the Christmas season, anyway?) And I can't go out to the ham shack in the garage for fear of exacerbating my malady. So 40m CW is out (the band is dead anyway) and the work on my BitX17a is forestalled.

So, I am in the process of visiting some sites from around the 'Rez and elsewhere and thought I would pathetically attempt to make this genius elsewhere go viral. (Please refrain from that inane sniggering, thank you.)

..and, no, this is not the real thing. Ya gotta go to No Sheeples' site to enjoy the experience.

Oh Drat! The glass is empty; I shall return..

PLUMBING NEW DEPTHS: Sorry about the delay. Mrs War Planner just finished putting up the tree here and -- and -- baked a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. So, I just had to see how they went with a couple of slugs of Lismore.
(they were damned good, as a matter of fact!)

Anyway, here's some info that should warm all of your hearts on this chilly Christmas season night: The Child Emperor has seemingly slipped into a new outer orbit of Rasmussen numbers and his Strongly Approve number is THE LOWEST ON RECORD at 22% -- it is almost half of those who Strongly Disapprove and less than half of the Total Approve. Screw it, here's the numbers:

December 14, 2010

This guy is like the crazy uncle who shows up at Sunday dinner, helps himself to one too many sherries, is incessantly flatulent, and mumbles offensive, inappropriate, antagonistic utterances to all of the guests.

And what did the southern Democrat learn from his 1980 electoral loss to Ronald Reagan? “[N]ot to ever let American hostages be held for 444 days in a foreign country without extracting them.” He adds, “I did the best I could, but I failed.”

Carter also claimed that Sen. Ted Kennedy’s challenge in the Democratic primaries “cost me a lot of votes,“ and that he ”should have paid more attention to the organization of the Democratic Party.”

“I was not only the leader of our nation, but I was also the leader of the Democratic Party. And I think I failed in that respect to keep the party united.”

In addition, Carter says that America has lost its competitive edge, the U.S. is ready for a gay president and Israel should withdraw from Palestinian territory.

Wow! While his assertions are pretty absurd, that last one is a howler. I mean, some guy who was a retired Marine Lieutenant Colonel who served honorably, came out when DADT was repealed, and got either party's nomination would not trouble me at all: content of his (or her) character and all that.

But, I wish this Jew-hating old bastard would just choke on a piece of gefilte fish or something.

Go to the link if you if you must, but be advised that they got a video there and you DON'T want to click on it and listen to this dessicated old peanut farmer drone on and on and on and on.

GRATUITOUS CARTOON UPDATE: With sincere apologies to No Sheeples and Woodsterman (and others here associated with the Left Coast resistance) who amass the most profoundly artistic (Carol) and bizarre (Odie) collection of images on their sites, I happened to stumble on a good set of art over at The Right Reasons. The one below kinda fits into the tenor of this post -- lame, dumb-assed, senile, overly busy, failed waste of skin former president -- so I appropriated it.

December 11, 2010

I know many of us crave anonymity here on the blogosphere, but not the old War Planner. Yep, in fact I thought I'd post a video of me and my neighbors having a nice little chat on a Summer's eve last August. It seems they were curious about one onf my hobbies..

Betcha you all thought I looked like Slim Pickens. Well, of course I am much more handsome than that. I bear a striking resemblance to Claude Aikens. Of course, it's not all skittles and beer down there in the basement. I am constantly under fire form my HOA because of my antenna, BCI, and TVI. And some other governmental officials have problems with my operating practices.

..anyway, gotta go. I am starting to hear JA's and VK's on the low end of 40 meters and there's an old friend on the QRP calling channel up at 7,030 KHz.

(I said I wanted to take a hiatus to "play with some new toys". Well, among the new toys are those gift-wrapped beauties that President Golden Showers and his Dem coterie in Congress thrust upon us, begging a pre-Christmas opening..)

"yes, the lady in the back wearing the blue dress."

Some posts just write themselves. One of them has been the Kabuki by the Democrats and Obama over the fact that their incompetence, intransigence, inattention, and general in-your-face behavior has conspired to make a pig's breakfast of the Bush tax cut expiration on 1-1-11.

Well, let me rephrase that. If unattended to, then the new state of affairs on that date should be named The Obama Tax Increases. Plain and simple. Full stop.

In keeping with the gastronomic metaphor, not to rehash this but to chew over some of the more delicious morsels of this squalid buffet, I offer as courses of this pathetic repast the following:

Democrats do absolutely zero, zip, nada for an entire year except jam health care up the skirt of an American public who steadfastly preferred them to address jobs and the economy.

They postponed any action on this vital tax matter affecting virtually all of the tax-paying public until after November 2nd because they hoped to salvage their fading election hopes.

When handed an historically stunning rejection at the polls, they continued to drag their feet by substituting burning issues like the Dream Act or repeal of DADT.

Obama and the Dems continued their class warfare rhetoric on this subject right up until the moment that The Child Emperor eschewed his party leadership -- the Botoxed Bitch and Prince Harry the Dingy -- and ducked into a meeting with the ascending Republicans where he compromised(?) on a tax deal.

Immediately afterward, he emerged and, in an incredibly mono-partisan and ungracious manner, proceeded to hammer the very people with whom he forged an agreement, repeatedly calling them "hostage takers".

The lunatic fringe of his party (i.e., most of the current office-holding Democrats in Congress) go ballistic and excoriate this pathetic POTUS as a sell-out to the rich, the moneyed, and the powerful. Whi

While doing so, they proceed to lard up the tax bill with another 100 billion in pet projects like giveaways to Hollywood and Puerto Rican rum producers.

So that brings us up to a day or so ago where Obama begins another one of his promising-to-be-tedious press conferences by parading out The Cohibatator -- Billy Jeff Clinton -- as a co-respondent to the fourth estate's verbal inquiries.

The sound you heard was the collective dropping of jaws as Charming Billy strode to the podium and The Child Emperor assumed a subservient position to the left and rear of The Prevaricating Pantload from Pine Bluff.

Then, as if that weren't enough, Mr Golden Showers proffers some lame excuse about not wanting to piss off She of the Stevedore arms, Moo-Chelle, and exits stage left.

A-freaking-stounding!

So, in yet another exhibition of incompetence, Mr Not-Ready-For-Prime-Time demonstrates to the American public that he is unable and unwilling to be president, to face the music, and to discharge the responsibilities of his office.

There are so many opportunities for humor here but my favorite has got to be the most obvious arc of this story line: Obama skips out on important events because he has to take either the dog or Moo-Chelle for walkies. You will remember, of course, when he skated on that Rhode Island political fund raiser using domestic duties as an excuse:

"I've got to get home because Michelle is on the road. So I've got to be home to tuck in the girls and walk the dog. And scoop the poop."

This time it was the FLOTUS. Hope he has a scooper and a really, really big poop bag.

December 5, 2010

Perhaps, the artist above got his inspiration from the weirdest and most haunting of all head pieces from 1982: Koyaanisqatsi. The hypnotic score by Phillip Glass and the mesmerizing pictures are -- well -- engaging to say the least.

Below are three of the nine parts of the movie to be found on You Tube. The first part to set the context; the eighth and climactic part and the denouement of the ninth part.

Do this: queue them all up, pour yourself three fingers of your favorite poison, put them on full screen and watch in a quiet room with subdued lighting.

It seems that Fat Lip Obama, surging with a surfeit of street creds after getting his labia stitched up, has been throwing The People's House's doors open yet again in a boogaloo-fest for leftist luminaries. He and Moo-bama, the Fahbulous FLOTUS with the stevedore arms, hosted the Kennedy Center honorees:

President Barack Obama [peace be unto him] and his wife, Michelle, have hosted Oprah Winfrey, Paul McCartney and other Kennedy Center honorees in a star-studded White House reception.

Country singer Merle Haggard, composer Jerry Herman, dancer-choreographer Bill Jones also were being honored for lifetime achievement in the performing arts, and welcomed by the president before the awards ceremony at the Kennedy Center.

Obama remarked it was the second time this year McCartney had visited the White House -- in July the former Beatles legend was awarded the Gershwin Prize for popular song, and sang "Michelle" to the First Lady.

"It was a thrill," said Obama. "Although apparently Paul joked afterward that he was worried he might become the first guy ever to get punched out by the president."

In the audience, McCartney pointed to his lower lip in reference to Obama's own busted lip, suffered earlier this week during a basketball game.

The president's injury came up again a little later in his speech when he stumbled on the word "superfluous" while reading from a teleprompter about the importance of the humanities.

"It's hard to say. You try it when you've had 12 stitches," Obama said to laughs.

..this clown is still milking this after three weeks? How pathetic can one be for material?

In the mean time, thanks, Fat Lip, for providing me the opportunity to gratuitously run that wonderful pic of Paul McCartney yet again.

..I mean, there are so-o-o-o few opportunities for photo-ops of one of the surviving Beatles what with him spending so much time in libraries and all that.